Soul Searching
by Iris Cornelia Jade
Summary: Alternatively, "Matthew has ninety-nine problems and ninety-seven of them could be solved if he had better relationships." A story about an innocent little Canadian peasant in love with a married French knight, a brother who happens to be hellbent on getting his heroism on, and the King of the Pagan Gods of the British Isles.


**The only reason there's a new fic here at all is because it's a collab that quite honestly had the weirdest birthplace of all. Me and my moirail were sending 'Ask _" advice column letters back and forth and she brought up one from the POV of Matthew in love with Francis. And I (being the sarcastic person I am) answered like an Absolutely Invincible English Gentleman (TM) and told the poor sod there was no hope and he had to sacrifice his soul to the pagan gods of the British isles to cleanse and save himself. I'll post the actual 'letter' with the chapter of bloopers that will undoubtedly come at the end, because both of us have the tendency to become high on random articles of food, like truffles and sunflower seeds and pomegranate. Well, that might just be me.**

**This will be a Franada and USUK and Spamano and GerIta and some other ships we don't know yet fic because we suck at planning and birthed this horrific crack child from the loins of our polluted minds. Her fic says to credit her for three out of those four ships, but let's be honest; USUK is more my OTP than hers, anyway. She can have her Italy ships, but the USUK and Franada is credited to me I tell you all mine MINE well maybe not all but still and Lydia I'm skyping you about this now and coming to your house and (tempted to quote lemonade mouth but will stop because haha what is wrong with me I'm probably high already and I just got home from school). (Also Lydia I am sorry for my gratuitous crack in this author's note).  
**

**If you've read this I applaud and I'd send you my iPod out of gratitude if I was a stalker and knew your house address. But I don't, so I won't. Or do I. Or does my alter-ego. Fuck it let's do this shit. (Sorry tiny children the swear words will flow like the Nile River turn back turn back and save yourselves now).**

* * *

"Are you sure?"

Matthew Williams stood before the council of pagan gods in a dimly lit room, arching a brow in disbelief.

"Isn't that what I just fucking told you, bastard? The only way to get over your stupid crush is to offer your soul to the idiot pagan god king." The god leading the council huffed, obviously irritated with having to repeat himself, "Hope you have a lot of fucking fun with that, the tea bastard is almost as annoying as the stupid tomato."

A very audible sigh rippled through the chamber as a voice further in chirped, "Aw, don't say that!" Squinting, Matthew could see another god that looked similar to the leader. "It really hurts 'Tonio's feelings, plus it's kind of your fault that he's stuck here anyway."

The leader's blush could be seen even in the low lighting, and he turned around and growled at the other person. "I don't fucking think that anyone asked you your opinion, Feli. There's a reason that you're in the back."

"I'm in the back so I can be with Ludwig!"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

Matthew blinked once. And then another time. And then three times, because people tend to blink every couple of seconds in real life. After quite a lot of blinking, Matthew elected to just ignore the exchange. "So…how do I get to this 'tea bastard' slash 'god king' slash whatever?"

As the leader opened his mouth to respond, a giant explosion of tea leaves filled the bottom left corner of the room. The overpowering smell of burning pastries assaulted Matthew's nose as he reeled back, coughing. Suddenly, a darkness filled the area. When it had faded away, there was a resounding gasp that echoed down the hallway leading to the room.

...And a relatively normal looking man was standing in front of Matthew.

Matthew heard the leader of the council groan as the new man brushed off his suit jacket. "Oh, hello there. You were wondering how to get ahold of the god king, I assume?"

"Er, yeah. I kind of want to offer him my soul."

"Oh! Well then, let's see..." The man's eyes lit up and he began to circle Matthew. There was a rather loud thump as one of the gods' head hit a nearby desk. "Hm, you seem to have kept your soul in nice shape. Almost golden as a matter of fact. There _are_ a few holes because of… 'hockey fights'? No matter, it's probably the best one that I've seen in a decade. Offer accepted!"

Matthew blinked. "You're the god king?"

The man—the god king, apparently—huffed indignantly. "Well, of course! Did you expect it to one of those fools?" He gestured to the council as the council's leader muttered under his breath and made rude hand gestures. The god king ignored him and offered a hand, "My name is Arthur Kirkland, pagan god king of the ages, and I'm honored to accept the donation of your immortal soul."

Matthew took Arthur's hand uneasily, "Um, the pleasure's all mine, eh?"

Arthur's eyes suddenly went dark. "_Also, I heard what you called me, and I'd like to formally inform you that calling me 'tea bastard' will result in ten years at the seventh circle of hell._"

Almost automatically, Matthew pulled his hand away as the green fire returned to the god's eyes—he suddenly seemed ten times more menacing. "Now, where were we? Oh yes, we just need to bring up the contract…"

As the god magicked a piece of paper out of midair, the shy man suddenly became apprehensive. Drawing back slightly, he coughed. "You're collecting my soul…later, right? Like, when I die, you take my immortal soul and I go through indentured servitude for five years and then I'm free?"

"Hm? Of course, of course." The god didn't even take his eyes off the paper, conjuring an inky black quill and signing with a flourish, which really didn't make Matthew feel any more secure. "Alright, I'm done, your turn. Read it for as long as you like."

Matthew took the paper and it promptly unfolded down to his feet and out the hallway.

"...Or as short as you like, really."

Groaning, Matthew signed the line in the middle of the paper despite the bad feeling he got from the extremely long paper. It vanished into a shower of green sparks, wrapping around Matthew's form.

"Pleasure doing business with you, Matthew Williams," grinned the British God, and suddenly he seemed much more sinister. Glancing down, the Canadian growled when he saw the sparks wrapping around his legs, eating inward and upward until he could no longer see his feet—then his legs—then his body. "Oh, and one more thing."

As Matthew let out a single spitting curse word, Arthur the British Pagan King God of the Underworld leaned forward with a smirk.

"About the 'later?' _I lied._"

And with that, much in the same way a man sinks underwater, Matthew Williams's head sunk under the destructive force of the green sparks as the light, lilting cackle of King Kirkland accompanied his immortal soul into the underworld.

* * *

"Mattie!" Alfred burst through his half-brother's door, with no regard for the fact that it was 9 am on a Saturday. "I want some pancakes but you make the best ones so—Mattie?"

Alfred listened for angry grumbling or any sounds of movement.

Nothing.

That was odd.

Usually Matthew would be whining because "It's too early and you're too loud. And no, I'm not making you any pancakes! You just woke me up from a nice, restful sleep, so you can make your own, hoser!"

"... Matt? You better not be getting laid or something! Bros before hoes, right?"

When even that didn't elicit a response, Alfred began to get worried. And, unfortunately for Matthew, when Alfred got worried, he began snooping. After almost an hour of searching, he had discovered that Matthew had a dozen dead roses in his room (creepy as hell), about seventy romance novels (and not even the good kind), and no maple syrup (not even a single bottle). It was the last thing that tipped him off, because there was no way that Matthew would go even a day without any syrup, and even if he was out for some unfathomable reason, then he always left the bottle in the cabinet so he would remember to buy more. Alfred glanced at the one room he hadn't checked yet: the basement.

Alfred had good reason to be wary of it, because Matthew tended to let wild and possibly rabid animals live in his basement for extended periods of time. But it wasn't like he was _scared _or anything, because heroes did not get scared, especially over a few rabid, deadly animals. Yeah, definitely not scared. _Well, _He thought as he approached the door,_ here goes nothing._

He pulled open the door and sighed in relief. No crazy animals in sight. But, as he ventured down the stairs he began to get more creeped out. The large basement was lit only with candles and in the center of the room laid a simple charcoal circle with… was that a 'B' made out of ketchup in the center, upside-down cross drawn through it and all?

This set off alarms in Alfred's head, reminding him of old wives' tales about a demon who stole tomatoes and small children from unsuspecting houses, but of course those were just silly stories to keep kids from misbehaving, right? Story or not, Alfred knew that his brother was missing, that there was a creepy summoning circle in the basement, and his brain was screaming, "YOU'RE ABOUT TO FUCKING DIE OH MY GOD YOUR LIFE IS A HORROR MOVIE", and Alfred definitely didn't want to stick around for the climax when the dashing hero died.

The neighbors would come to refer to that day as "that one day when that obnoxious boy screamed like a girl and ran away."

In true 'fanfiction physics' manner, Alfred managed to run non-stop screaming all the way to the King's castle. Running into the opulent throne room, he grabbed at the king's feet, ignoring the outraged yells of the castle staff.

"King dude, you gotta help me! My brother got pulled into some shady shit and he fucking disappeared! I need like, your best knight, or maybe a whole army…"

"...Kill him."

"WAIT NO YOU CAN'T KILL ME THERE'S A GIANT SUMMONING CIRCLE WITH A 'B' AND AN UPSIDE DOWN CROSS IN IT AND GHOSTS AND SHIT AND DO YOU WANT MY SOUL TO BE EATEN BY A GHOST!?"

There was a pause, where the queen got up from his throne and whispered in the king's ear. The king tilted his head.

"A 'B' with an upside down cross, you say? I've seen that symbol before...the symbol of a great goddess who once stole my grandchildren."

Alfred stopped his incessant screaming about ghosts as the new information set in. "You mean… MY ONLY BROTHER WAS ABDUCTED BY AN EVIL GODDESS? Dude, you totally gotta help me now! At least one knight, please?"

"..." The king's expression was cold as he stared at a spot above Alfred's head. Briefly, Alfred wondered what he was looking at.

"...I will send with you my best knight. In return, you must tell me what has come to be of my grandchildren. Feliciano and Lovino—remember those names." The king snapped his fingers, and his queen tossed his long golden hair (that had gotten him mistaken as a female the first time the king had brought him back from the ancient Germanic tribes) and glanced contemptuously toward the nearby hallway.

From beyond the chamber, a solitary figure emerged, clanking metallic armor and the rustle of buckles and thick cloth. The faint smell of roses permeated lightly through the room, making Alfred gag.

"Sir Bonnefoy, you've been listening—join Alfred, find my grandsons, and find his brother. Alfred, this is Sir Francis Bonnefoy-Knight of the First Order, High Escort to the Queen, Slayer of Dragons, Master of Swords, Prince of the Roses. Perhaps you can help him out a bit."

Alfred jumped to his feet, "Sure! I'm Alfred F. Jones, hero extraordinaire!" As the duo exited the castle to head for Matthew's house, Alfred spoke again. "You know, I only need your help because I needed a sidekick to help me with my heroic quest to save Mattie."

"Ah, oui," Francis rolled his eyes, "I'm _quite_ sure you could've handled the underworld on your—Wait, Mattie… as in Mathieu Williams? Blond with violet eyes and wavy hair?"

"Yeah, he's my little bro and back-up sidekick. Why? Do you know him?"

"Oh, non, non, of course not…I must say, however, that this mission has just gotten a whole lot more interesting."

* * *

"Oh dear, I must've overdone it that time."

Matthew furrowed his brow, not quite understanding what was happening. Why was his bed so hard, and why was there some British guy in his bedroom? He was sure that the only guy he would invite into his bedroom was… Matthew shook his head to end that train of thought. He needed to forget about that stupid night _and _that stupid knight.

"You're waking up! Thank hell, I usually don't use that many theatrics. I'd apologize, but you don't seem to be injured in the long term and it _was_ rather entertaining..."

As Matthew groggily wiped the sleep from his eyes, memories came rushing in. He very nearly shrieked when he finally opened his eyes all the way and saw that the source of many of his problems was leaning very closely to him. Luckily for Matthew's dignity, he managed to suppress the scream; unluckily, he jumped and flailed, resulting in him accidentally hitting Arthur.

"Ow! Bloody _fuck!" _Gripping onto his nose, the regal king of the dead let out some not-so-regal human curse words. "You sodding sod! If my nose is bleeding I swear you'll pay in sweat and tears for the next thousand years!"

Both anxiously checked. Fortunately for everyone involved, the nose was not bleeding.

"Phew, thank God—er, wait." Matthew paused, confused, before shrugging to himself. Leaning back onto the bed, he sighed. "So, what do I do now?"

"...You'll stay in my palace for now," the old God said with a clearing of his throat. "You're allowed to roam free, but you may not leave the building and on the off chance you find the magical door to the fifth floor you may not under any circumstance enter it or it's _fsssssh-sssssss-pow _for you, okay?"

Scared by the rather exuberant hand gestures made with the sound effects, Matthew nodded. Arthur grinned firmly and turned to the door.

"CRUZ!"

Within seconds, a friendly-looking man in a Hawaiian shirt stood at the door.

"Cruz, this is Matthew. Matthew, Cruz. Cruz will acquaint you with the castle and show you where everything is. As for me, I'm going to the fifth floor to conduct some business, so please don't bother me."

After Cruz and Matthew had wandered around a bit, the only sounds being their footsteps and Cruz pointing rooms out, Matthew's curiosity got the best of him.

"So are you a…"

"A god?" Cruz snorted, "As if I'd want to be one of them. They all have unnecessarily complicated issues, and ain't nobody got time for that."

"Then, what are you?"

"A captured soul. Just like you, but the only difference is that I actually read the contract."

Matthew's jaw dropped, "You read that whole thing?"

"Claro que si! Didn't your parents ever tell you to read things before you signed them?"

"Yeah, but it was so _long_."

Cruz scoffed, "The fact that it's long only amplifies the reason to read the fine print, since it's even more likely that there's some unsettling section that makes you sign your soul away to the devil—or, for that matter, the God of Death—immediately. Of course I was tired and didn't want to, but I held on. Damn, it took me almost eight hours." He chuckled slightly, scratching his head. "In the end, I demanded a different contract. I thought he was gonna kill me when he couldn't get—" He paused.

"What is it?"

"I thought he was going to kill me when he couldn't get what he wanted, but he was impressed by it and gave me a different contract—ten years of servitude after death. In another couple of months I'll be free."

"Is there anyone else here?"

"No. I'm pretty sure I'm the only one who's ever escaped that contract, because the part about signing away all your rights to everything is in the last seventh of the contract—it's close enough to the end that a person who starts reading it probably won't get to it, but it's far up enough that a person who suspects something will be hidden in the fine print at the bottom won't find it either. I just happened to be the only one who read the entire document start to finish and be sane enough to understand the connotations of the weird British lingo."

"Haha...yeah..." Matthew coughed.

"So, what'd you ask for? A guy in this time trying to sell his soul to the King Pagan God of the British Isles—it's been outlawed by your king, hasn't it?"

"...Yeah."

"Come on then, what was so important that you had to go against the king's orders?"

"... It's stupid. Stupid and embarrassing."

"Fine then, socio, how about I tell you why I'm here, because your story cannot be dumber than mine." After a second Matthew nodded and Cruz continued, "I'm here because I wanted to save my idiot cousin. The palestino was 'in love' but his lover had been kidnapped by some dumb goddess, so he offered up his soul so he could be with whoever he loved forever. And I mean, yeah, this sounds like some kind of love story, but he's the twist—his lover turned him into a fucking talking tomato! Like who even does that? So I come down here and attempt to save him from this fate, but a month into my indentured servitude, I see the guy and he tells me that he actually _likes _being a tomato and is _happy_ with how his unlife or whatever turned out! So I basically gave up ten years of my afterlife for someone who didn't even want to be saved." Cruz looked over to Matthew, who was rather worried after hearing the story. Alfred wouldn't try to save him, right?

"Come on, Matheo, your turn."

* * *

"Dude, that was hella trippy!"

Francis rolled his eyes. After making their way back to Alfred and Matthew's house and reactivating the summoning circle in the basement, they had been transported to the spirit world and they he was now traveling with Alfred through what appeared to be a large field, bent on saving Matthew. Francis was currently attempting to trek through the field alongside Alfred in the hopes of not only serving his king, but sorting out his feelings—and he also happened to be becoming less and less sure that putting up with this man beside him was worth it. _I wonder if Mathieu would be too opposed to me leaving his brother to fend for himself… _

"So Francypants," Francis cringed at the nickname. This American was cutting his own chances of survival. "Now what do we do?"

"I believe our first task is to find out what happened to the king's grandchildren. From there, of course, we'll go to look for your brother."

"You got any idea how we can find the kids?"

Francis shook his head, "Non. But, it seems that even this spirit world has a nighttime, so we should find a place to set up camp, and maybe ideas will be more forthcoming in the morning."

After several minutes of silence, Alfred spotted a large cave in the distance. "Will that work?"

"As long as there aren't any spirit-animals in there, il sera parfait."

"Sp-spirit animals?" The American froze, eyes widening, "Like ghost dogs and shit? Dude, m-maybe we should just find another place to—"

"Yes, this place looks perfect." The Frenchman smirked as he sauntered into the cave, casually throwing down his standard issue bedroll and sliding in. "After all, I myself am not afraid of the ghastly ghouls that are said to inhabit such caves, possessing human beings and sucking their souls into vast nothingness."

"_N-N-Nothingness?_" Alfred let out a distinctly unheroic squeak.

"Yes, a deep black nothingness where your soul must roam for the rest of eternity, doomed to search for a fate it knows it can never encounter." Rolling over and sliding off the looser parts of his armor, the Frenchmen through them over his shoulder and slumped deeper into his bedroll, closing his eyes. "Sweet dreams!"

* * *

Jeanne D'Arc Bonnefoy knelt in front of the household shrine, systematically tossing in sage and reciting prayers that she had known since she was young.

"Dear gods, both above and below, keep my beloved safe as he journeys on his righteous quest. Allow him to survive and return him to my arms with minimal harm. Please—"

"That prayer is rather drab. I'll have to speak to the local church owners to get them to spice it up."

Jeanne turned around rapidly and screamed, grabbing a nearby stick. "Don't, don't come any closer… whoever you are!"

"Woah there, calm down!" Thick eyebrows went up above green eyes as the young man behind her held his hands up in a 'surrender' motion. "I just wanted to see what you were doing! Curious, that's all...geez, people these days..."

"Oh—no, it's okay." Jeanne grabbed another sprig of sage and pressed it into the stranger's hand. "I'm just praying to the Gods that my husband will be returned safely. He's a knight, you know. On a dangerous voyage."

"Yes, I'm fully aware of that." As Jeanne looked up quickly, the man blinked.

"Wait, what?"

"What?"

"I thought you just said—nothing." Jeanne shook her head. "Anyway, you must be a foreigner, if you don't recognize that symbol or know how to sacrifice sage to the Gods." She motioned to the 'B' with the upside down cross inside, inscribed in oak wood above the small fire that was burning the herbs. "You toss the sage into the fire, then dab sacred oil three times onto your head—like so—and speak; 'Dear Gods, above and below.' Then your request, and that's it—"

"Still a rather drab prayer," the man sighed, drawing close to the fire and tossing the sage in and clearing his throat. "The highest and mightiest—the pinnacle of life—please hear our humble prayer, for we are but an element of ourselves and a portion of everything we mean is yours. Shield us, guide us, stand before us, let us trust implicitly in all the wisdom you hold, let us be led forth in time under the knowledge that you watch us and hear our prayer—" Here the man drummed three fingers into the vat of sacred oil and swiped them across his forehead, one by one. "—let this lady's husband's actions be watched under the Gods. Not that we aren't already watching him—"

"—what?!"

"—in our mind's eye. And this we pray in the name of the greatest, the strongest, the mightiest God-King of Death, Britannia." He stood up, oil still glistening on his brow, and touched his forehead three more times before bowing and turning to Jeanne. "And _that's_ what I call a prayer."

She gave a startled laugh. "Well, you certainly 'spiced it up.'"

"I'm sure the King God himself would be pleased," he replied, giving a small laugh. Jeanne smiled.

"If you're new to this area and need lodging, I'd be glad to take you in-it'll be lonely now that my husband's away."

"No need for that; I have my own lodging. But I am staying in this area, so perhaps we'll meet each other again." Reaching under his thick cloak, he pulled out a tree branch and a book, scribbling something into it before replacing it into his coat and handing her the branch. "Take this. You might need it. Cypress."

"Ah...okay, if you say so," Jeanne replied, chuckling slightly as the thick branch was placed into her arms. The man nodded, smiled, and turned to go before Jeanne called him back.

"What's your name, then, stranger?"

"Arthur," the man replied, continuing out the door. "Arthur Kirkland."

* * *

**Geez, I feel like we tried to stuff too much into this story...**

**I don't do translations because I feel like they clutter, but if you want to find them you can check out my co-author's version (edited differently—but seriously, mine is better) at archiveofourown works / 1076003. Quite honestly, it's pretty much the same with the exception of a couple of word choices. I'd like to think that mine is a bit more IC, but that may just be me.**

**It should be mentioned that I wrote most of Arthur and Francis while she wrote most of Alfred and Cruz. We pretty much split Matthew, and I wrote a majority of Jeanne; she wrote out Lovino and Antonio, and I'm pretty sure Feliciano has like one line and that was mine. IDK why I'm doing this.**

**_In case you were wondering I wrote this before I wrote the intro which is why there is not as much crack and no mention of tiny children and pomegranate._**


End file.
